AS POOR RELATION
Nancy soon fell into the routine of the household, and led an active,
useful life at 900, Queen's Gate. Undoubtedly it was good for her, that
she had no leisure, nor any opportunity for reflection and solitude,
save when in bed. Then she was so thoroughly tired, that she fell
asleep almost as soon as her head was on the pillow. After all, the
daily régime of this elderly establishment, was not so irksome to a
girl who had been for years, accustomed to the strict discipline of a
boarding school.
Within a week, the new arrival had learnt her aunt's chief ailments and
requirements, taken a sharp impression of her character, and was not
a little amazed at her own capabilities in measuring drops, picking
up stitches, and writing notes. She also read aloud, and went endless
messages. Many a tiresome errand did she save Baker, and the cook; many
a toilsome journey did she make up those long flights of stairs: the
excuse for such constant perambulation, being, "that she was _young_!"
At first, her visit had been spoken of as "temporary," Mrs. Taylor
and Miss Dolling being actively engaged in searching for a suitable
post for the interloper. The former, was particularly anxious to be
rid of this too useful, and obedient relative,--who accomplished her
tasks without complaint or murmur. The truth was, that Nancy had not
forgotten Mrs. De Wolfe's wise counsel, and inwardly soothed her _amour
propre_ by saying to herself, "Aunt Arabella is Daddy's sister, and
I must try to please her; though lots of the things I have to do,
are hateful,--and Mrs. Taylor is more detestable than everything put
together!"
Her most unwelcome task, was that of exercising the Pom twice daily on
a lead--a job that really belonged to Baker. He was a little animal
with an odious character,--and not a gentleman; quarrelsome, and
insulting to other dogs, shamelessly greedy and inquisitive, and with a
bark, that was almost worse than a bite!
Meanwhile Nancy plodded along, buoyed up by hope and letters,--hope
that "Finchie" would be home in the spring, and find her a nice
situation--with payment. Here, naturally, she received no salary; her
wealthy aunt was in some ways surprisingly stingy; a miser with respect
to stamps, and extraordinarily mean in the matter of coal, electric
light, cab fares, and newspapers. As for the electric light, they often
sat in semi-darkness, and yet Mrs. Jenkins thought nothing of paying
from twenty to thirty guineas for a gown, or a shilling for a plover's
egg!
Nancy's happiest moments were when the Indian mail arrived, and brought
her long despatches from "Finchie," from Francis, from the Hicks
family, and Teddy Dawson. The latter had once enclosed in a letter what
is known as a "fat" cheque, amounting to sixty-three pounds and some
odd shillings, which had been paid into Ted's account on her behalf by
Mayne. This cheque was promptly returned, and Nancy scribbled at white
heat, "I will not touch this money; please do not offer it again, or
ever mention Captain Mayne; all _that_ is a dreadful dream, which I am
doing my best to _forget_."
Letters from India were not the only ones addressed to Miss Travers
from the outer world. She had received a short note from Mrs. De Wolfe,
and several ill-spelt scrawls, indited by Mr. Fletcher's valet. He was
now living in a sanatorium in Switzerland, a confirmed invalid; indeed
the valet, who was a Scotchman, informed Nancy that his master was "far
through." Mr. Fletcher wished to hear how his little Nancy was faring?
if she had need of money, and if her aunt kept her well supplied?
otherwise she knew where to come for it. _He_ would be her banker. But
poor as she was, Nancy preferred to be independent. A portion of her
savings, still remained intact.
She sent frequent letters to her old friend, gratefully declining his
offer--telling him everything about herself, that she thought might
interest or please him,--carefully omitting all disagreeables; she
also added scraps of news, gleaned from her Indian correspondence;
in short, Nancy had the art of composing cheery epistles, which were
deeply appreciated by a sick, and solitary exile.
In August, Mrs. Jenkins journeyed to Harrogate, bearing Nancy and
Baker in her train. The lady much preferred Scarborough, and cast many
wistful thoughts in that direction, but then Baker had a married sister
living at Harrogate, so there it was--or rather, there _she_ was!
Mrs. Jenkins stayed for several weeks at a fashionable hotel, consulted
a new doctor, sat about the gardens, sipped the waters, and compared
gossip and symptoms with her friends. During the latter part of the
visit, she allowed Nancy to spend a short time with Mrs. Briscoe at
Eastbourne, whilst Mrs. Taylor, who had been languishing in her poky
little flat, stepped nimbly into her shoes.
Nine hundred, Queen's Gate, was reopened at the end of September. The
charwoman's parties came to an end, and the carriage horses no longer
took the coachman's friends to Hampton Court, Kew, or "the pictures."
Everything gradually settled into the usual routine, as far as Nancy
was concerned; exercising the Pom, changing the library books, shopping
at the Stores, and attending upon her relative.
One afternoon, as laden with parcels, she re-entered the house, Galpin
handed her a card, on which was inscribed, "Mrs. De Wolfe, Newenham
Court. So very sorry to miss you." The card was presently followed by
a note, inviting Nancy to lunch with Mrs. De Wolfe at her hotel, but
this, alas! she was compelled to decline, as the date fixed, happened
to be her aunt's weekly "day," and she was on duty with the teapot.
A second note from Mrs. De Wolfe, repeated her disappointment at not
seeing her young friend, especially as she was about to leave London,
in order to spend the winter in the West Indies. Her disappointment was
as nothing to Nancy's, for in her case, it was increased by despondency.
Ever since her arrival, under her aunt's roof, Mrs. Taylor had been
ceaselessly endeavouring to remove her elsewhere. She had sought out,
and suggested several situations, but these on examination had not
proved to be satisfactory. One, was as an apprentice in a ladies'
blouse and hat shop--to assist in the showroom and workroom, hours
eight to six, dinner provided--no remuneration, but then "it was
such a good opening," that Mrs. Taylor was enthusiastic. Another
"opportunity," of which Nancy refused to avail herself, was as typist
to a rising young dentist--and to give some assistance with the
patients!
"But I'm afraid of dentists, and I cannot type!" protested Nancy. "If
Aunt Arabella wishes, I can find a situation. Mrs. Briscoe will arrange
for me--she has offered to do so."
Greatly to her friend's dismay, Mrs. Jenkins was not at present
disposed to part with her useful slave, and sternly commanded Henrietta
to postpone the search.
Autumn passed without any particular change; Nancy developed into
a sort of extra lady's-maid, companion, secretary, and butt; Mrs.
Jenkins saw a good deal of company: when her health permitted she was
at home on "Tuesdays," and received many visitors,--as her teas were
proverbially well provided--fruit and ices, were not unknown. These
Tuesday afternoons, entailed weary hours for her niece, who stood
pouring out, handing cakes, and generally assisting Galpin.
Mrs. Jenkins also gave occasional solemn dinners. These banquets
were usually attended by various elderly men of her acquaintance,
as she had a notable cook, and a famous bin of superior old port.
At such festivities, Nancy was not expected to appear; her mourning
was too deep. It was for this reason also, that Nancy was never
invited to accompany her relative to any place of amusement. Mrs.
Jenkins declared, that she could not possibly go into society for a
full twelve-month. Her idea on the subject of mourning, was strict,
and old-fashioned--mourning by the year,--crêpe by the yard. When
the banquets took place, Nancy wrote out the menus, and name cards,
arranged the flowers, and Bridge tables, and then thankfully retreated
to the breakfast-room with a novel, and the Pom.
Sometimes she felt that this life was almost too difficult! Mrs.
Taylor's poisonous influence told heavily against her; her enemy was
so often with her in the Gate; she lunched or dined two or three times
a week,--and having a genuine appetite for small doles, carried away
fresh eggs, extra flowers, half-cut cakes, a box of scented soap, and
similar useful largesse! After her visits, Nancy always found her aunt
more than usually snappy, and ill to please; yet on the other hand,
Mrs. Jenkins had what her niece mentally called "her good days." On
these, she would talk glibly enough about her brother Laurence; his
mad pranks, his high spirits, his good looks, extraordinary love for
animals, and general popularity with old and young.
It also seemed to the girl--who was gifted with a vivid
imagination--that now and then, in her aunt's conversation, she
caught a faint echo of familiar expressions, and that she saw at long
intervals on the face of her despotic relative, a glimmer of her
father's smile! For these somewhat far-fetched, and flimsy reasons,
Nancy still clung to her post. After all, Aunt Arabella, with her funny
ways, was her only _near_ relative. She was Daddy's sister too, they
had been brought up in the very same nursery, and had shared the same
home.
The talks of "old times" at Lambourne, were considerably discounted
by Mrs. Jenkins' rosy and prosy reminiscences of her own personal
triumphs. On this subject, she could expatiate for hours,--content with
a silent audience, or an occasional ejaculation.
"I daresay, my dear," she remarked to her niece, "that your father
often told you, that I was the beauty of Blankshire, and how people
would stand upon the road to look at me, and push and fight each other,
to travel in the same railway carriage. The County ball was actually
postponed, until I had returned home. After I was married, when I had
a box at the theatre, it was most unpleasant the way the audience
stared--every opera-glass levelled at poor me--and people waited in the
vestibule, to see me pass out. Once when we were dining at a foreign
restaurant, the prince of a royal house, sent round to inquire my name?
Your uncle was furious, and I am sure it was the prince who sent me
every morning, a most beautiful bouquet of flowers!"
She also related at considerable length, how several great artists had
humbly implored permission to paint her portrait, but had been rudely
snubbed by dearest Samuel: who had never allowed her picture to be on
public exhibition.
Nancy listened with attentive interest to these tales of triumph, and
faithfully believed in them. It may have been due to this artless
confidence and appropriate deference, that she and her aunt were
perceptibly drawing closer to one another; Nancy would receive an
occasional kiss, a little patting of her hand, or even a word of
praise, and thanks.
Alas, shortly before Christmas, a slump in Mrs. Taylor's dividends and
a severe financial crisis, figuratively cast that lady at the feet
of her wealthy school-fellow. Dearest Henrietta was received with
open arms, offered the best spare bedroom, the second best, and most
comfortable arm-chair, and soon settled down with remarkable ease into
the position of an established resident.
Not long after this acquisition to the family circle, Mrs. Jenkins'
manner to her niece underwent a change; she became querulous and
fault-finding, and her "good days" were rare. Once, when the girl had
ventured to speak of her old home, her friends, the far-away blue
hills, and the coffee estate, Mrs. Taylor had coughed significantly,
and her aunt had said:
"There, that will do, Nancy, that will do! I don't want to hear
anything about those people; I am not interested."
As there were visitors present, Nancy was overwhelmed, and put to open
shame by such a resounding slap in the face. Perhaps, after all, it was
excellent discipline; Nancy the impulsive, was rapidly mastering the
noble art of self-effacement and self-control. Her sorest trial was
experienced of an evening, when Bridge was played, and Miss Dolling
made a fourth. The scoldings administered to Nancy--especially when
playing with Mrs. Taylor--made her so nervous that her mistakes were
flagrant. She had actually been known to trump her partner's best card;
more than once, she had been driven from the table in disgrace, and the
rubber had ended in "cut throat."
Only for Mrs. Taylor (whose dislike amounted to personal enmity), Nancy
believed that her aunt would have given her a small share of her heart;
and for her own part, she made a great effort to storm her affections;
but her attempts were invariably foiled by the sinister influence of
Mrs. Taylor, who had marked "darling Arabella" for her own! She had
reason to believe that her name was in "the will"--and naturally the
fewer legatees the better!
Arabella was so weak and impressionable, she might take it into
her head to make this niece her heiress! The girl was apparently
good-tempered, and willing--but in reality, cunning, and deceitful.
Arabella was of full habit; an apoplectic seizure might carry her off
in a few hours, and she (Henrietta Taylor) was bound to be on her
guard, and to take the situation firmly in hand. With this virtuous
intention, she made stinging speeches, transformed harmless remarks,
accused Nancy of untruth, and impertinence, and did her utmost to
figuratively crush her out of existence like a black beetle, and create
a wide breach between aunt and niece. Mrs. Taylor was particularly
careful never to leave the pair alone; a _tête-à-tête_ was always
a serious danger to be avoided: precisely as if Mrs. Jenkins was a
lovely young heiress--and Nancy, some unprincipled and discountenanced
suitor! If by chance, she entered a room and there discovered the
girl established with her relative, she looked so alarmingly black
and lowering, that Nancy received an impression, that she had been
caught in the act of stealing something that was the property of Aunt
Arabella's old friend!
On the other hand, when Nancy found the couple together, her appearance
was the signal for an abrupt and significant silence,--undoubtedly she
and her short-comings, had been the topic of conversation.
In spite of this, Nancy had an instinctive impression that her aunt was
a little afraid of her towering, black-browed inmate; once, when she
made her a trifling and inexpensive present, she added:
"Don't show it to Henrietta," and on several occasions, she had
whispered, "Not a word of _this_, to Mrs. T.!"
Mrs. Taylor was now enjoying what might be called "the time of her
life." Of an afternoon, she accompanied her friend in the comfortable
landau, behind a pair of fat brown horses,--royally arrayed in a
superior, if secondhand, ermine stole, and muff. She was carried to
theatres, lectures, concerts, and At homes: was suffered to make the
first pounce upon new novels, enjoy breakfast in bed at pleasure,--and
glasses of port at discreet intervals. Moreover, she had been endowed
with several imposing costumes; and yet she was not happy! for Nancy
Travers represented "Mordecai the Jew," in Queen's Gate,--and until she
was dislodged, her enemy could know no peace.
It was ten months since Nancy had arrived from India, ten months of
suppressed grief, hard work, and complete isolation. She had recovered
her health,--thanks to incessant occupation, early hours, and good
plain food. "The girl was picking up," as her aunt expressed it, and
once or twice, she had actually been moved to remark, that in Nancy's
now flawless skin, she saw something of "the family complexion!"
(meaning her own). In spite of "the family complexion," Nancy was not
treated as a relative, but an employée; her status in the establishment
was that of a superior "tweenie"; as time went on, there were no longer
any references to "old days at Lambourne," no affectionate pattings or
strokings, no confidences, or small gifts--much less a condescending
kiss.
Mrs. Taylor made as much mischief as lay in her power, and fomented and
instigated "rows." She never gave her adversary credit for one good
trait, but held up all her short-comings, in the domestic limelight.
Late at night, when established at her ease in her friend's bedroom,
she "talked over" the iniquities of the day with unctuous eloquence.
She (the chief parasite) loudly bewailed her poor darling Arabella's
fate, in being compelled to support a thankless hanger-on! Pointed out,
that Nancy was secretive, that she wrote too many letters, wasting
her time and stamps; that she was cruel to the Pom, and flirted with
the new doctor--even going so far as to lie in wait for him in the
hall! Every one of these indictments was a deliberate and inexcusable
falsehood; and perhaps Mrs. Jenkins, at the back of her mind, reminded
herself that Henrietta "exaggerated"; but at last, after many vigorous
efforts, Henrietta succeeded in rousing her effectually. One night, as
soon as she had settled herself for the usual talk, she began abruptly:
"I do believe that girl has been complaining to Mrs. Devine, telling
her that she is miserable here,--at least, that is what _I_ inferred,
from what Mrs. Devine said to me to-day. She was quite sniffy and
stand-off, and refused a cup of tea."
"What did she say?" demanded Mrs. Jenkins fiercely.
"She said, that it was noticed how Miss Travers always went about
alone; quite a well-known figure in Kensington Gardens, a tall girl in
mourning, taking a Pom for exercise. That she was never to be seen with
her aunt in the carriage, or at any place of amusement."
"Why, of course not!" burst out Mrs. Jenkins; "her year of mourning is
not nearly up. What else?" she demanded dramatically.
"That she appeared to have no young friends."
"Is it likely, my good Henrietta, that I would allow my house to be
overrun and turned upside down by a pack of young people, simply to
amuse a girl who has to look to _me_, for her daily bread? I never
cared for Mrs. Devine, but I had intended to invite her to my next
large dinner-party. Now I shall cross her name off the list--she shall
eat no more dinners or luncheons, _here_!"
"I should hope not!" said Mrs. Taylor emphatically, "for Mrs. Murray
told me privately, how Mrs. Devine had remarked to her, that the girl
was treated more like a servant, than a relative: said she was shabbily
dressed, neglected, and snubbed, and that if Miss Travers had a spark
of spirit, she would find another situation--and clear out!"
This conversation proved extremely agitating to Mrs. Jenkins. It came
as a revelation; a shattering mental avalanche: that anyone among her
acquaintance should dare to find fault with _her_! The extraordinary
influence of Mrs. Taylor, was entirely due to her unfailing supply of
the most honeyed flattery! Misguided Arabella, was invariably told the
things she wished to hear, and lived under the impression, that she was
beyond the reach of criticism; everything she did was right; she had
felt complacently assured that her neighbours and friends unanimously
applauded her, for her benevolence in giving a home to her orphan niece!
The recent exciting and unexpected information, brought on a sharp
attack of nervous palpitation.--Whenever Mrs. Jenkins was annoyed,
she immediately complained of "palpitation."--Mrs. Taylor had swift
recourse to the usual remedy, a bottle of drops--and as she handed the
wine-glass to her patroness, she said impressively:
"Darling Arabella, you _know_, you will never have any comfort
or peace, until you get rid of that girl. She is accomplished, I
understand, and now she is nineteen, and looks years older than when
she arrived, surely her friend Mrs. Briscoe can find her a situation as
governess?"
"No, no," protested Mrs. Jenkins, "I won't have that--Nancy is useful;
clever with her fingers, active on her feet; the Pom is fond of her,
and you know how few people _he_ likes! Baker, too, though terribly
against Nancy at first, thinks her a nice young lady. Of course, I need
not tell you, that I never bargained for a girl in the house; and I
daresay I should be happier without her, but if I were to allow Nancy
to go away, and take a situation--just think of the _talk_!"
"It would be much better to have one big talk,--and get it over,"
declared Mrs. Taylor philosophically, "better to clear the air, than
to have perpetual whispering. Some people are never happy, unless they
are picking holes in such as you--whose shoes they are not fit to
clean. And now, dearest Arabella, I cannot bear to see you worried,--as
you know. If you could only make up your mind to let Nancy take a
situation, we should all be so _much_ more comfortable. Remember she
is not actually your own niece; only your stepbrother's daughter. Do,
_do_, think it over--good-night, my own--darling!"
"Good-night, Henrietta, and be sure you turn out the electric light on
your landing. Last week, you left it on all night, and just think of
how _that_ will add to my quarterly bill!"